


Soulmate Drabbles: The Fall of Shield  Doom/Darcy Part 2 -- The Bus and Its Inhabitants

by LostMyMarbles



Series: Soulmate Drabbles: Doom/Darcy [2]
Category: MCU, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Darcy's not stupid, Don't touch Doom's stuff, Don't touch Tony's stuff, Doom's pissed, Drabbles, Fury reaps the whirlwind, I will try to be fair though, Let's avoid Civil War, Let's give Tony new playmates, Make Mine Marvel, No really I mean it, Phil lives!, Phil's not an idiot, Shield reaps what it has sown, Slow Burn, Sometimes those things overlap, Taking Things Slow, This is Part 2 -- The Bus and its inhabitants, but really, he's a totalitarian ruler, slowest of burns, some Cap bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostMyMarbles/pseuds/LostMyMarbles
Summary: What it says on the tin.What happens after SHIELD falls to those on the Bus.  Featuring Phil, May, and the rest.  This part focuses on them, and a few other folks at Avengers Tower.  We will return to Victor and Darcy in the next installment.I know, I know, but what happens here affects Victor and Darcy as well, so...¯\_(ツ)_/¯Please do not kill me.  Thank you for your cooperation.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Darcy Lewis/Victor von Doom, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Series: Soulmate Drabbles: Doom/Darcy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905325
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

He pressed his fingers to his forehead, wincing as the headache behind his eyes stabbed at him again. But this had to be done. It had to. “We can go to Providence,” May said, glancing over at him from Lola’s passenger seat.

“No,” Phil said, forcing himself to pay attention. “We can’t. I’m not going to lead those bastards to the last redoubt that SHIELD has, May.”

“So you’re going to torture yourself, maybe get us all thrown into the Icebox? I can’t say as I’m fond of your plan here, Phil.”

“Just -- there.” He pulled Lola into a parking space, watched as the media pressed forward, a pack of coyotes going for a wounded wolf, as Natasha Romanov walked unhurriedly down the Capitol steps.

He pressed the button on his watch.

Her head came up at that, one hand going to the arrow pendant around her throat, and he watched her scan the area, assessing, assessing -- and for the briefest moment when she saw him, he saw hope, sorrow, and furious joy cross her face, all in the blink of an eye. 

She raised an eyebrow, and he counted. One, two, three, four seconds, her left eye. He got back into the car and turned the key. “Phil, this isn’t smart,” May hissed. “We’ve lost everything, how do you know --“

“I lost everything before,” he snapped. “Whatever happened, however they brought me back, I couldn’t remember my husband, May. My husband.” His glare was apparently enough to shut her up, thank God, because as they made the last corner, the Black Widow jumped into the back seat and put a gun to the back of his head.

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with his body?” She hissed, feral, low, murderous, and May had her gun out too now, trained on the Widow.

“Natasha. Abilene, Minneapolis, Des Moines, Santiago, Memphis.” The personal code, the code he had dredged up from his dreams, the code he and Clint and ‘Tasha had worked out in the back booth of a diner with the best damn pancakes in the country. “Lilacs and magnolias.”

The barrel left the base of his skull. “Phil?” Came a broken whisper. “Phil, really?”

“Really. Would I let anyone else drive Lola?”

“Phil, _bozhe moy_ , Phil, you were dead, you were dead, we mourned you, Phil --“ ‘Tasha was weeping, and it was his fault, all his fault.

“I don’t know. I don’t know exactly what happened to me,” he said. “May, stand down. I’m me, and she knows it.”

“May,” ‘Tasha spoke, acknowledging the other passenger. 

“Widow,” May nodded, putting away her gun but remaining in place, watching.

“Where’s Clint?” Phil asked, and ‘Tasha all but snarled, her upper lip pulling back from her teeth.

“As of this morning? Miami, thanks be to God, on his way to New York.”

“What’s in New York?”

“Hill,” ‘Tasha snapped, venom dripping from her voice. “We are all supposed to report to her now, Fury is in the wind again --“

“He’s still alive?”

“That old man cannot stay dead, he is Koschei,” ‘Tasha hissed. “And I owe him. I owe him a great debt, for here you are, but I owe him more, because -- Phil, what happened?”

“T.A.H.I.T.I. It’s a magical place.” He hadn’t been able to break the reinforcement yet. He didn’t know if ‘Tash knew anything about the Project; she must have, because she went pale as milk.

“You survived?” She asked, and he sighed.

“Barely. Apparently it was…I can’t make myself read the entire file yet. I have triggers, reinforcements, it…what I have read? It was bad. Experimental. We need to go destroy it before Hydra --“

“You need to see your husband,” Natasha interrupted, and he nodded.

“I do.” Nights on the bus, reaching out to hold someone who wasn’t there, an outreached hand, longing for slim fingers. The scent of cedar, knowing that Aubrey had been important to him at one time, but she wasn’t who was supposed to be in his arms.

“Do you want to drive, or take the Bus?” May asked quietly, and Phil glanced over at her; shame, he thought, shaded her eyes.

“Oh, we’re taking the Bus. I need to have a talk with the Avengers.” He glanced up in the rearview mirror to meet Natasha’s eyes. “On one hand, I am grateful for the data drop. My hacker found the medical and next of kin forms for Clint and I. That’s how I…broke what I’ve been able to.” Putting a face and a name to the shapeless form he longed for.

“And she found one of our drops.” Pictures, the wedding pictures, Elvis officiating, of course, because Clint was a jerk and he cheated at cards. Natasha with magnolias in her hair and lilacs in her hands. “But I’ve been…” he pulled up in the park, and pressed the button to open the cargo bay door, pulled up into the Bus. “Compromised. I don’t know what was put into my head, as well as taken out.”

“Then we will find out,” Natasha smirked at him.

“Yes,” he agreed. “We will.”


	2. Chapter 2

Some man glared at Widow as she got out of the car, Phil turning as soon as he was out too, the two of them embracing, clinging to one another like long-lost children. Two-thirds of Strike Team Delta were reunited, soon they would be three again, soon the triangle, perfect points. Soon, it would not be just she and Clint snatching at one another, soon -- but for now…for now, she had work to do. Phil had always been too trusting.

Wasn’t she proof of that?

Of course, he had been right, in her case.

But still. Better safe than sorry.

She could not stop the tears from rising, emotions overflowing as she gripped his shoulders, breathed in his scent. “We need to debrief,” she murmured, and he chuckled, she could hear his own tears. “Phil, no, we do; the Winter Soldier.” He stiffened in her grasp. “And how do you know that none of yours are Hydra? Did you choose this team?”

“Only Skye.”

“Skye?” She asked, and he sighed, letting go of her and stepping back, though he kept his fingers on her wrist.

“I made a judgment call,” he said, smirking slightly, and she laughed, full and deep.

“You made a judgment call.” The exact words Clint had used when he had brought her, wounded and weary, to his handler. “Are they any good?”

“They need a lot of work on their hand to hand, but that’s my baby hacker. That’s who brought me --“ he stopped, shaking his head. “I should have remembered without it. I was, I was breaking it slowly, but seeing it, it made it real. More real. I had thought -- fantasies, or dreams…” he was trembling now, and she heard what he could not ask.

“He will forgive you,” she whispered, lifting a hand to his cheek. “I forgive you. I know you would never leave us of your own free will.”

“I’ve got a lot of groveling to do to forgive myself,” he murmured, and turned his head to kiss her palm. “Herme macarons?”

“Five boxes,” she said without blinking.

“Five?”

“Five. And five bottles of Stolichnaya Elit.”

“Done,” he acquiesced, and she let him lead her to meet his people, just as she wanted. He wasn’t broken. Just bent. They would straighten him, sharpen him again.

That was part of being a team.

“Everybody get ready for takeoff,” he ordered, striding forward and Widow fell into place behind him and to his left, as Clint belonged on his right. A dark haired woman, young, rushed forward.

“A.C., what -- holy shit that’s Black Widow,” she squealed. “You brought her?”

“Agent Skye, Agent Romanov. Have you got anything more on the -- the project?” He asked, and she nodded.

“I’m almost through. It’ll take another six, seven hours or so.”

“That long?”

“This is close to Stark level encryptions, A.C. I’m good, I’ll get through it, but I need time.”

“You don’t have it.”

Natasha suppressed her sigh as the poor girl’s face fell, and Phil went on. “We need that information, Skye. We’re racing Hydra, and possible unknowns here. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get you some assistance once we reach our destination, but just in case, keep at it.”

“Okay,” the young agent sighed. “I’ll go do what I can.”

“I know you can do it,” Phil added, his voice warming and dropping conspiratorially, and the girl -- she was no woman, not yet; had she even killed yet? -- nodded, and with a last look of wonder at her, wandered off.

She followed Phil to what had to be his office here, a small cabin, large enough for his desk and the chair before it, waited as he locked the door behind her and to set a scrambler that she didn’t recognize on it. “Fitz made them,” he said at her assessing look. “There’s only two, and only one descrambler, which is in my safe.”

“You are concerned.”

“I am,” he agreed. “Jasper, ‘Tasha. I loved Jasper like a brother.”

“I know,” she said, shaking her head. “That is why I let him live.”

“So no. You and Skye are it.”

“And Clint, and --“

“And Cap, and Stark,” he acquiesced. “Banner.”

“But no one on your team, not for certain.”

“No. Fury chose them, but Fury trusted Pierce, and we know how that turned out,” he sighed, going to his desk and swiping the drawer for the biometric lock for his laptop. “Now. Debrief, please; you mentioned the Winter Soldier.”

“Yasha. Yes.” She took the seat in front of his desk, and he watched her over the top of the computer. Just like old times.

“The Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes, and Rogers is compromised.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I did not know his face or his name when he worked with the Red Room. He was Trainer, he was Soldat. Sometimes, very rarely, he was Yasha, and that was a secret, our secret. But they -- I do not know what they did to him. He -- I worked with him for years. He trained me, we were sent on missions together, we were…compromised,” she laughed sadly. “That was when he was Yasha. But when he saw me a week ago, he did not know me. He did not know Steve, to begin with.”

“What happened?”

“I do not know. Steve says that at the end, he knew him. That he tried to save him, brought him up out of the water. But I do not know what…if it was conditioning, if it was some form of chemical or hypnotic brainwashing, I do not know what happened, I do not know how it was broken, if it was truly broken. We must try to find him and save him, and more…again, I am compromised,” she sighed.

“Explain.” Phil leaned back, one finger tapping the arm of his chair. That was familiar, even here, even now. 

“Steve and I found a strange computerized version of Zola. Arnim Zola, like -- almost as if someone had downloaded his spirit into a computer. And he…hinted. That the Winter Soldier did something horrible. Something that perhaps Steve could not forgive. He did not say, for certain, but he hinted that it had to do with Howard Stark.” She frowned, looking down at her hands. “Phil, the Winter Soldier, even as Yasha…he did wet work. That was all we did, we did not infiltrate, we did not -- assassination.”

“The Starks died in a car accident,” Phil said, frowning, and Natasha shook her head.

“Whatever it was, demon, or AI, it was sure. It was laughing, it was -- it was something that it thought would break Steve. And I do not think it lied.”

“I see,” Phil said, sighing heavily. “How did Stark take it?”

“I haven’t seen him. I have been here in Washington, watching over Steve and attending Congress. And if this is true, this is something that anyone who cared, even a tiny bit, for Tony, would tell him in person. Not over the phone.”

“No,” Phil agreed. “No, you’re right. Can you call Stark? Make arrangements for us to see him? I won’t drop this on him first thing, Natasha, but he should know.”

“Why not you?”

“Because I’m still dead to him, Natasha, and he has a heart condition. I don’t want to hurt him or Miss Potts any more than I already have,” Phil said, closing his eyes. “Damn Fury.”

“Damn Fury indeed.” She would cut his other eye out, slowly, with a wooden spoon. “I will call Tony, and Steve and tell him and Sam to get to New York.”

“Sam?”

“The Falcon. He’s keeping an eye on Steve for me right now. I don’t trust Steve at the moment not to go off the reservation, go off searching for the Soldier, and if the Soldier is recaptured, that would make him perfect bait for Hydra to capture or kill Captain America.”

“The guy with wings?”

“The guy with wings,” she agreed, smirking again, and he smirked back.

“You like him.”

“He is not incompetent, and knows when to stay the hell out of my way.”

“Has Clint met him?” Natasha laughed.

“I only met him a few weeks ago!”

“I’ll take that as a no. I --“ something began beeping incessantly, and Phil sat up, flicked his laptop; his face fell, going pale before his eyes met hers. “Someone’s gone rogue.”

“Here?” She asked, and he nodded, turning the laptop so she could see camera feeds of the rest of the plane, one by one, flickering out. She caught a glimpse of May, unconscious in the cockpit, of two people, a man and a woman, handcuffed in a lab, of Skye being dragged down a hallway by the large man who had glared at Natasha on arrival.

“Where are they going?” Natasha asked, and Phil opened his desk drawer, tossed her a comm. She fit it in her ear, turned it on.

“Looks like the cargo bay. Oh, please try to steal Lola. Please,” Phil snapped, glaring at the feed.

“Alternative routes?” She asked.

“Sending to your watch now. Take your pick; there’s four. The most direct is probably through the common, the kitchen, and the labs.”

“Which ones does he know?”

“From my office? All but one, because he’s too big to make it work.”

“Vent shafts?”

“No.” Phil stood and moved the chair from under him, pulled up the carpet and opened a trapdoor. “Maintenance tunnels. May’s the only one who uses them, I think she was debating teaching Skye and Jemma.”

“Okay.” Natasha studied the route hologram from her watch; it looked fairly straightforward, and there she was, one of two green dots in Phil’s office. “Back in a few; go check on your pilot.”

“Don’t let him take Skye.”

“Of course not.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Grant,” Skye breathed as he pulled her through the cargo bay doors, “Grant, whatever’s going on, we can work this out, okay, look, we can work --“

“Shut up,” Grant hissed, closing and locking the door behind them, then shooting the keypad with an actual gun, that was a gun, not an icer, oh fuck oh shit oh fuck. “Listen. All you have to do is override the security on the car. I’ll fly it, we’ll get out of here. Because in about four minutes, you’re not going to want to be here anyway.”

“Grant, what did you do?” She asked, trying to buy some time, they just needed some time, Phil would notice --

“The bus ride’s over, honey, and this is our stop.” He entered the code to open the cargo bay door, pointed to Lola. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Listen, this isn’t -- I like being an agent, Grant, I like --“

“Skye,” he said, almost tenderly. “You’re valuable, and we can use you. But you’re not indispensable.” A blade jabbed into her side. “I want to take you with me. I know that in time, you’ll understand.”

“Oh Jesus,” she breathed, trying to twist away, but he had her. “No. Grant, no. Please.” 

“You’re wasting time,” he said, dragging her toward the car. “Come on. Shouldn’t take a minute, I’m sure Phil’s already told you the codes.”

“I won’t,” she retorted. “I won’t. You’ll have to kill me.”

“You think I won’t?” He raised the gun to her head, and she swallowed, but stood straight, looking him in the eyes.

“Can you? Can you murder me in cold blood, Grant?”

“Do you want to live? Because if we don’t leave, when the fighters come, you’re dead anyway.”

“Fighters? Fighter jets? Are you serious?” She asked, and he snorted.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh?”

“You’re stalling. Hoping for help. But Phil’s in his office with the Widow, FitzSimmons is tied up, and May’s out like a light. Nobody’s coming for you, Skye. Just like always.” He sighed, the gun coming down just a hair. “Phil’s about to get Strike Team Delta back. You don’t think you’ll still be important to him after that, do you?”

“Clint’s his husband, Grant, what was done to him was wrong --“

“I don’t care. Neither does Hydra. Now let’s go.”

“No.”

“Fine.” The gun rose again, and she dove to the side as he fired; the bullet ricocheted off of Lola’s force field, and she scrambled to her feet, running for the SUV. It was bulletproof --

The Bus lurched, then righted itself. She fell, but got back up just in time for Grant to grab her hair, pulling her backward, the hot barrel of the gun pressed to her jawline.

“Back off,” he growled, and she saw the Black Widow approaching them.

“That was Phil,” the Widow said, stalking forward. “He’s in the cockpit now, and he has likely reset the stealth program, so whatever information you gave to your contacts, it’s no good anymore. The stealth codes are only good for twenty-four hours, and rescramble after a hard reset. Did you know that, Agent Ward?” She was closing in on them. Skye knew that Grant could counter all of the training he had given her, but could he counter the Black Widow? She wasn’t sure. She doubted it, but she wasn’t sure.

“They’ll never stop. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. Cut off one head --“

Skye had had enough of that shit, thanks. She sagged in Grant’s hold, body going limp, and the change in weight dragged Grant down with her. She heard a hiss, and then sweet Jesus she was lit up, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt -- and she was clear, but she couldn’t move, the Black Widow bending over her, checking her pulse. “I’m sorry,” the redhead said. “Electricity conducts.”  
She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, but she blinked, hoping Widow would understand. She seemed to, because she nodded, then left Skye’s line of sight, probably to secure Grant.


	4. Chapter 4

“Clint.” ‘Tasha sounded…odd. “Lazarus.” 

Two words. That was all it took, and now he was sitting in his apartment in Bed-Stuy, watching his phone and willing it to ring. Not his SHIELD issued phone, not even the burner sat-phone that he and ‘Tasha traded out every month.

THE phone.

It was an old, old sat-phone, the kind nobody monitored anymore because it had been issued in the late ‘90s, and upgrades were upgrades.

But it still worked. And he kept it charged. Just in case.

That didn’t keep him from jumping half a foot when it finally, finally, rang.

Hands that never shook trembled as he picked it up and accepted the call. “Sam Gamgee,” he answered it, and a ghost chuckled on the other end.

_**“O great glory and splendor.”** _

“Where are you?”

“About to head in to Stark Tower. Probably an hour out.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. And -- God, I’m sorry,” Phil breathed, and Clint clenched his empty fist.

“One thing. Just one. Did you -- was this --“

“Never.” Phil made that one word sound like a promise, a threat, and an apology all at once.

“See you in an hour.”

“I love you.”

He broke then, great gasping sobs tearing themselves out of his throat. “I -- oh, fuck, Phil…”

“I know.” He could hear ‘Tasha speaking softly in the background. “I know. We -- we’ve got a lot of work to do. A lot to work through.”

“I love you, too,” Clint murmured, and Phil gasped on the other end, then --

“Barton. Get your ass in gear and get to Stark Tower,” Natasha snapped. “If I have to hold you both together, better to do it when you’re in the same place.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

“Tony? Tony, I have to talk to you. It’s desperately important.” 

“Itsy bitsy,” Tony sighed, leaning back on the couch. “What’s up?”

“I…I have miracles to bring you,” she said, and damn if she didn’t sound like she was on the verge of tears. “Miracles and refugees. Please.”

“What kind of miracles?” He asked, curious despite himself; Natashalie was not one of his favorite people right now.

“A good one, I think. A very good one.” He could almost hear her calculating how much to tell him. “Tony. Phil Coulson is alive, and with me right now.”

He sat up, grabbed his Starkpad, tapped out a message to JARVIS; “Phil Coulson. Shield files. Now.” He spoke. “How do you know it’s him, Natasha?”

“Several different ways; but it is. It is him, not a clone, not someone with plastic surgery or a photostatic veil. It is him.”

“Put him on the line.” He waited.

“Mr. Stark.” It sounded like him.

“Agent Agent. Where the hell have you been?”

“Unwillingly, unavoidably, detained.” The familiar voice was stressed and fatigued, and he watched the screen; 100 percent voice recognition match.

“You’re telling Pepper. I’m not taking the fall.”

“I’ll be happy to. I hate to invite myself, but there’s a -- there’s a lot of information we need to go over. You and I, my team and the Avengers, and so on. Do you mind?”

“No,” he said. “No. But don’t bring that fucking pirate in my house again. I mean it this time.”

“I assure you, Mr. Stark, I have no intention of being in the same room with the man. Not until I’m sure I won’t kill him myself.” Natasha muttered something in the background in Russian, probably more death threats. He could get behind that.

“So how many people are you bringing? And how long? A day, a week, a month? Has anybody called Cap yet?”

“I called Cap and Sam -- you haven’t met Sam yet, Tony, he is the Falcon -- and they will be arriving sometime tomorrow. I haven’t told them about Phil yet,” Natasha broke in. “And Clint should be on his way, hopefully he will bring food because I am starving.”

“We have four friendlies besides myself, and a prisoner,” Phil spoke up. “Hydra mole. Do you have --“

“We can put him in Hulk’s playroom. It’s secure.”

“What’s your ETA?”

“Half an hour.”

“Great. Charlotte, you said Clint’s bringing food?”

“He had better,” came the dark threat, and Tony had to laugh.

“Listen, just in case he doesn’t, what do you want?”

“Diamond Temple. A double order of the steak and mushroom fried rice, please.”

“How about you call it in for everybody, get plenty, and I’ll pick up the tab? And that doesn’t sound bad, get me some.”

“You’re too generous, Mr. Stark, but thank you.” That was Coulson, and that was…huh.

“Yeah, we’ll see about how generous I am when we’re all at each other’s throats tomorrow or the next day,” he sighed. “See you soon.” He hung up and started making arrangements. They’d probably sleep over; well, the guest suites for visiting business contacts were all empty right now, so that would do, but they’d have to make alternative arrangements by the end of the week; they were expecting guests from Austria and Italy to discuss some new water filtration factories.  
He rubbed a hand across his face; “We’re living in interesting times, JARVIS,” he mumbled.

“We are indeed, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're gonna sidebar here to Victor and Darcy, because all that was taking place at the same time as this. Well, relatively the same time -- the same 24-48 hour timespan, anyway.

She wanted to just…settle back into life at the labs, she really did. Okay, she had to make a few changes, sure, but she wanted to just go back to the way things were, keeping Janie and Erik fed and happy and productive, dragging them out of the labs at least once a week to remind them of what they were working for. She wanted to just go back to the easy time, the simple time, when she typed things up, sent in expense reports, and kept coffee and apples and protein bars and whatnot on hand for science benders.

Instead, she found herself staring off into space more often than not, her taser never left her side, and she read the flyer for Krav Maga classes at the synagogue four times before walking away from it. That…that wasn’t really something she wanted to do, was it? She had taken a basic self-defense class way back when she was a teenager and the girls had started to come in, but Krav Maga, that was…that was serious stuff, wasn’t it?  
“I don’t know,” Allie said when she brought it up in a session. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m…I’m afraid I’m overreacting. But then again, am I? I mean, my life, Allie, look at my life now. It’s crazy.”

“I think if it’s something that you think would be good for you, it wouldn’t hurt,” Allie said, making a note. “I think things feel out of your control right now, and Darcy, you like being in control of your life. It could be a reason why you haven’t actually left and pursued your own career.”

“Okay?”

“Just, you know. You know this life. Yes, it’s a bit unpredictable, but most of the time there’s routine.”

“Or you could look at my benefits and my paycheck and the fact that I do like what I do, most of the time,” Darcy pointed out, and Allie nodded.

“You do, and you are in a fantastic place for someone your age, compared to most of your peers,” she agreed. “But that’s not the point, that’s something maybe for a future session. You asked if I thought you should take Krav Maga. I think you should think about why you are thinking about it. I think it might be a good idea, for several reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Any you like,” Allie shrugged. “And it doesn’t have to be Krav Maga. It could be any form of self-defense, or any aspect of controlling your body. Lifting weights. Pilates. Jogging. If you feel that it would be helpful, try it. What’s the worst that can happen? You go a few times, you don’t like it, you stop going. You’re out a few euro, maybe you try something else instead.”

“I don’t have to keep going if I don’t like it, do I?” Darcy mused, and Allie shook her head, blue hair swinging.

“No, dear, you’re an adult.”

She turned that over in her head on the way home. She didn’t have to keep going if she didn’t like it. She didn’t have to take Krav Maga to begin with. She could find some other system of self defense if she wanted to.  
She needed to think about this some more, maybe. But she did like the idea of maybe lifting weights or something. Something that could maybe make a little bit of a difference if -- be real, Darce -- when something bad happened again. Because with everything going on? It was almost guaranteed to.

Her phone beeped, and she looked down to see a message from Erik. “Are you coming back to the lab or going to the apartment?”

“Do you need me at the lab?”

“Not to my knowledge, I just wanted to check in, so we knew where each other were.”

“Then I’m going home, fire up some Netflix.”

“Good. Be sure to lock the door and arm the security.”

“I will.”

She picked up a curry at the corner takeaway, walked halfway down the street toward the apartment before stopping as if she had a message to look behind her. 

One face in particular looked a little too familiar, and she sped up as she walked on. A woman bumped into her, dark hair, a little dumpy looking.  
“Don’t worry,” the woman said lowly. “Alys Drovni, Latverian Elite Guard. You are safe, Lady Lewis.”

“That obvious?” She asked, trying to smile, and the woman chuckled.

“A little, if you know what to look for. I think you saw Hector. My partner.”

“Oh. Well, um, thanks? For letting me know? Because trust me, I am all the paranoid these days,” she laughed, a little shrill even to her own ears.

“From our briefing, you have good reason to be. Now smile, and wave as I walk away, as if we are good acquaintances.” 

“Okay,” Darcy agreed, doing as the woman told her. It wasn’t until she was inside the apartment, the door locked, that she realized -- that woman could have been anyone. Absolutely anyone, and just lied about being -- but Hydra or anybody else wouldn’t know that she knew Victor. They wouldn’t have claimed to be a Latverian agent. They probably would have went with MI-5 or MI-6 or maybe Scotland Yard.   
Still. She’d call the embassy.

She was in the middle of an Eddie Izzard special, curry half-gone as well as her cider, feeling no pain, when her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Was there an incident?” Victor’s voice came over the line, and she sat up, pausing the TV.

“Not that I know of, I don’t know, what’s --“

“You called the embassy to ask if there was a security detail ordered for you.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, that’s -- I can explain.” She did, and he sounded…relieved when he spoke again.

“I am glad that it was just that you noticed them. Well done.”

“Oh, it’s just my paranoia,” she sighed, leaning back against the couch again. “I’m thinking about doing Krav Maga. Me, Krav Maga, I must have lost my mind somewhere between here and Latveria, I’m not an ass kicker.”

“It would likely be a good investment. You are what most would call a soft target -- I am sorry, but it is true. You cannot depend on weaponry and luck; it would be a good skill to fall back on.”

“Oh, I -- I’m not much of a physical exercise person. It’d be a waste of the trainer’s time, most likely.”

“I do not think so, but as you like. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Oh, no, backwards, it’s got to be midnight your time,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I’m so sorry if this woke you up or interrupted anything important.”

“You are important. And no, I had not yet retired. I often don’t until well after midnight.” He paused. “How was your day?” The words and tone were a little stilted, as if he were reading from a script rather than having a conversation, and she had to suppress her giggles.

“It was good. I knocked off early, went to see my therapist, came home. That’s when I saw the dude following me and got worried. But the lady partner was nice.”

“I see.”

“How was your day? Can you tell me anything, or is it all diplomatic pouch classified?” He chuckled at that.

“I had a productive day; I had teleconferences with several diplomats and meetings with others, regarding Hydra. I am considering making another trip to the United States next week.”

“That’s good; you could improve relations for Latveria and improve your personal image,” she said.

“That could happen. I hold out no hope for the latter, but the former, I would welcome.” He paused, then went on, “I do not know your thoughts on making our relationship public; if you would like to join me in Washington, I would be glad to have your company.”

“I was going to leave that up to you,” she replied. “You’re the world leader here, not me. I think it’s a little early, though.”

“You may be right. And it would give others more information than I am comfortable with them having.”

“Others? Like for instance?”

“Putin and his ilk; you would become a target for more than simply Hydra, and some factions would not think twice of working with them, if they thought it would put me in a vise.” He cleared his throat. “Darcy, I did not mention this before you left, but no matter what…what we decide between us, whether we proceed in a romantic relationship or not, you will likely have some form of Latverian security watching over you for as long as I am Lord Protector.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess that would make sense.”

“You are not under surveillance. I do not want you to think that,” he added. “It is purely for your own protection.”

“I didn’t think it was anything else, but thanks for the assurance,” she said. “No, I just hadn’t really thought about it that much. I appreciate it, I mean, I’m sure it’s expensive, and it’s really good that you thought of it.”

“It isn’t expensive; I am only delegating resources in a different way. They would be guarding the embassy, if they were not watching over you, they would be paid regardless.”

“Thank you,” she said after a slightly awkward pause. “I appreciate your thinking of it, and I appreciate your doing it.”

“You’re welcome.” Another pause. “It is not Krav Maga, but if you like, I could arrange for self-defense lessons from the guards at the embassy.”

“Let me have some time to think about that. It’s a good idea, but I was going to wait on anything in that line for a week or two anyway.”

“Of course. Only say so, and I will make arrangements.”

“Thanks.” This time, the pause was pretty comfortable. “So do you have any hobbies?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Hobbies. Things you do for pure enjoyment, not for gain.”

“I have goals that I work at constantly, Darcy. I am afraid I do not have time for hobbies.”

“Are any of them world domination?”

“Not currently.”

“Good, good to know,” she laughed. “Oh, hey. That reminds me. How many synagogues are in Latveria?”

“Fourteen in total; we have a very small Jewish population, but the temple in Doomstadt is lovely, so I am told.”

“You haven’t been?”

“I am -- forgive me if I use the wrong term -- a Gentile. I did not think myself welcome.”

“Right, right, and most of the rabbinic councils would meet with their local officials, not the Lord Protector,” she mused. “Well. If I’m there over Shabbat, I’ll go to Shul.”

“I did not know you were practicing.”

“I’m not orthodox, I’m reformed, and I’m not particularly pious. But I have a healthy respect for my culture and my culture’s history. Besides, it’s always interesting to visit new temples and synagogues.”

“Culture and history are very important to me, as well, as a Rom,” he said after a moment, and it took her a second to parse what he meant.

“You’re Romani?”

“Through my mother; she was full-blooded.”

“Oh, that’s -- I don’t know a lot about the Romani. There’s not a lot of them in the States, and usually if you hear anything about them, it’s not good. I mean, obviously, a lot of it is bias and bigotry -- “

“It is,” he affirmed, his tone less warm.

“No, hey, I’m agreeing with you, fellow outcast here,” she interjected. “I’m just saying, that’s why I don’t know much about the culture.”  
He was quiet long enough she was about to apologize for hurting his feelings when he spoke.

“I miss it. I miss my people. I can’t join them anymore, not as I am now, and it isn’t likely I ever will again. But I do not forget them, and I do what I can for them, what they will accept. I keep small traditions, if I can; if…” he trailed off, and she waited.

“If?” She urged him on after a moment.

“If we come to that decision, I believe you would want a Jewish wedding, but I would ask some small Romani traditions to be included, if possible.”

“I’m sure we can work it out.”

“I am sure we will. I admit to be -- I never believed, you know. In soulmates. I know that I am not an easy person to get along with, but we seem to be communicating well, and it surprises me,” he said. “It makes me curious as to whether it is just the mark, and whatever comes along with that, or whether we would have sympathetic natures to one another without it. It surprises me, and I question, am I acting out of my normal character? Or is this what I would have been, without certain events interfering?”

“I’m a little much for most people, if I’m being myself, and I was afraid I would be for you, too, even before I knew who you were,” Darcy said, and he laughed.

“No one has ever accused me of being a wallflower, Darcy. I enjoy that about you. You see life, and you meet it, you have made it meet you on your terms. There, I think we are much alike.”

“Oh, I like that, that’s a good turn of phrase. I have made life meet me on my terms. Maybe I just don’t run from it.”

“That is exactly it. You do not run. I admire that about you, so many people do.” He chuckled. “In the SHIELD files about you. Someone noted that when the Destroyer came, you saved animals. Is that true?”

“Yes,” she said, a little surprised. “There were -- there was a dog. I remember shoving him through a car window at somebody who was about to drive away.”

“That is admirable. Even -- there was video footage of the Destroyer, and…I may have seen something like it in the past. In the face of such a monster, you showed no fear.” 

Oh, she did not need a minor in psych to read through that -- but it was really way early. Way, way early. “Yeah, well. Some call that stupidity, Victor.”

“It was courage, and compassion. I have not had the opportunity to practice the latter as often as I would like; to be who I am, it is seen as weakness. Courage, I have in plenty. I hope perhaps in time, you will help me wield compassion.”

“I will if I can,” she offered. “I don’t know exactly what you mean, but I’ll try.”

“You are truly generous.”

“In some things; don’t put me on a pedestal, I’ll fall when my feet of clay crumble,” she laughed. “Seriously, I’m human, I’m going to fuck this up somewhere along the line. I’ll say the wrong thing, or not know what to say and be quiet at the wrong time, and --“

“And that is human. That is one of the things I admire most about you, is that you are human. I have been too often amongst those who do not seem to be so. Careful words, false smiles, a mockery of humility and humanity. I prefer you.”

“Oh, wow, that was sweet,” Darcy said softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And now I have monopolized your evening; I apologize, I only meant to ask if there had been an incident.”

“It’s okay. I was just watching a show, I…I enjoyed this a lot more.”

“That is truly flattering. Thank you. Good night, Darcy.”

“Good night, Victor.”

She hung up and laid her head back on the couch; that had gone well. That had gone really well. Huh. “Look at me, able to make small talk with a supervillain,” she mumbled, and got up to get ready for bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Tower.

Clint entered the Tower through the employee doors, made a beeline for the private elevator. It began to rise as soon as the doors closed. “Hey, JARVIS?” He asked quietly. “Are…are the others here yet?”

“They are, Agent Barton.”

“I --“ he leaned against the wall, eyes closed, and he swallowed. “You’ve got biometrics on everybody, right?”

“I do, Agent Barton.”

“Is it him?” He whispered, and the elevator stopped.

“The voice match, retinal scan, and fingerprints all match up to former records,” JARVIS informed him. “However, his vitals are not baseline human.” Clint blinked, trying to parse that.

“They are very close,” JARVIS went on. “From the conversation that has been going on, and the records I have been going over for the last forty minutes, this would seem to be a side effect of the process used to resurrect Agent Coulson.”

“Process,” Clint repeated, mind going numb. “Resurrection.”

“Yes. I am sorry, Agent Barton, I do not mean to distress you --“

“No. No, I’m not -- I’m not mad at you, JARVIS, just, just -- he was really dead.”

“From all I can tell so far, Agent Barton, yes. Agent Coulson was clinically dead,.”

JARVIS paused, then went on, “It seems that the process used was…horrific. An experimental treatment developed from what I believe to be extraterrestrial sources, untested extraterrestrial sources.” Clint must have -- he wasn’t sure what he did, but JARVIS sounded worried when he went on. “I will be happy to let you out here, if you like, and Sir or Miss Potts or Agent Romanov or -- “

“No,” he said, shoving himself up off the wall and wiping away the tears that had fallen. “No. Take me up, JARVIS. I -- I need to see him.”

“Are you quite sure, Agent Barton? Agent Coulson is currently in the medlab with Doctor Banner and Sir and Agent Romanov.”

“That’s -- he’s okay, he’s not wounded --“

“He is not. However, he seems to be very rightfully concerned about what was done during his resurrection process. He is currently undergoing some tests, nothing horribly invasive, basic blood draws and scans. Agent Romanov has not left his side.”

“Please take me to my husband, JARVIS,” Clint said quietly, and the elevator began to rise again, humming quietly rather than silent running, almost as if JARVIS was giving approval.

“Okay, so are you seeing what I’m seeing here, Brucie Bear?” Tony said, peering at the projection of Coulson’s DNA.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so, this is…” Bruce frowned, readjusted his glasses, looking up at the hologram. “This is nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

The elevator door opened, and both scientists turned to see Clint walk out of it, tears streaming down his face as he crossed the lab to where Coulson sat on the med-lab cot and throw himself at the man, who returned the embrace with a fervent, wordless cry, Natasha wrapping her arms around both of them.

“Oh, we shouldn’t be here, should we?” Tony murmured to Bruce.

“Probably not,” Bruce agreed in the same soft tone.

“JARVIS, bundle up the data so far and send it to my lab.” Tony gestured, and the two scientists quietly left Strike Team Delta to their reunion.

In Tony’s lab, they pulled it all back up, adding in comparisons to Coulson’s former labwork found in the SHIELD database, as well as Bruce’s and Steve’s. “It…I’m seeing markers that are similar to Steve’s, but then those are mixed in with the squiggly ones,” Tony said.

“Squiggly? That’s a scientific term?”

“It’s a descriptor,” Tony shrugged, though he grinned at Bruce. “I think it’s ET type stuff, though. That genetic marker is not found on good old Terra.”

“No, it’s not. JARVIS, do we have any of Thor’s DNA?”

“We do, Doctor Banner. Taken from several beer and water bottles while he was here after the Battle of New York.” A new comparison came up beside the rest. “As well as Loki’s.” Another screen.

“Holy shit, Thor and Loki’s are completely fucking different,” Tony said, looking back and forth at the two DNA sequences. “I thought they were brothers.”

“I don’t know; Loki kept screaming that Thor wasn’t his brother,” Bruce shrugged.

“Huh. Well, mark that for later, we’ll talk about that another time. But here and here…no. It’s not a match.”

“But it’s definitely not Terran,” Bruce agreed. “I don’t think. JARVIS, do you have access to a database of known Terran genomes?”

“I do, and I concur. Those markers are not of Terran origin.”

“Well, shit,” Tony sighed, and turned to face Bruce. “So he’s got some kind of unknown alien DNA in his system, and we have no idea what long-term effect it could have.”

“He mentioned fugues,” Bruce said, taking off his glasses and taking a seat, leaning on the table. “He didn’t go into detail, but is it just losing time? Or flashbacks, maybe?”

“Don’t know. We may have to interview his new playmates and see if they’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary,” Tony frowned. “JARV, how did they get here again?”

“They drove, Sir.”

“Mmm. They haven’t been driving all over the country, have they?”

“I would assume not, Sir, but I don’t know.” Tony frowned.

“Yeah, we need more data to extrapolate from, “ he sighed. “Bruce?”

“Definitely. I don’t want to risk harming him rather than healing him,” Bruce agreed. 

“Question is, does he need healing? Does he need a vacation to Fiji? Does he need a new identity as a lumberjack in British Columbia?” Tony asked, shrugging. “We don’t know. We know he wants to know whether he’s a danger to others; what about being a danger to himself?”

“Or a liability to his team, either of his teams,” Bruce added. “I think he’d rather follow my example than hurt any of them, the new people or Clint and Natasha.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to keep him here against his will or anything, but is it safe to let him go back out in the field?” Tony asked, and Bruce shrugged.

“No idea.”

“Shit,” Tony sighed.

“Yeah.” Bruce ran a hand through his hair, frowning. “We have to tell him.”

“And we have to try to find out what happened,” Tony added. “So we can figure out…what he should look out for.”

“Right.” Bruce sighed, looked up at the ceiling. “Why do humans have to play God?”

“I wish I knew,” Tony said quietly. “I wish I knew.”


	7. Chapter 7

“It’s you. It’s really, really you,” Clint murmured, finally pulling back to look Phil in the face. “God, Phil, I thought -- I thought --“

“I’m so sorry. I can’t -- I can’t ever apologize enough,” Phil replied, lifting a shaking hand to cup Clint’s face. “I should have remembered. I should have --“

“You couldn’t help it,” ‘Tasha said softly. “Don’t, don’t blame yourself. Blame who is meant to be blamed.” They looked at one another, the three points, and Phil finally nodded.

“Fury,” the three of them said in unison.

The cot in the medlab wasn’t big enough for the three of them to cuddle properly, so Clint and Natasha pulled the thin mattress off of the frame, tucking it next to the wall. Phil in the middle, Clint to the right, Natasha to the left, both of the outside members leaning in on the inner, Clint’s fingers over Phil’s wrist, feeling his heart beat in his pulse. They were all silent for several minutes, just breathing one another in, allowing the joy of a miracle to sink into their souls, before Phil spoke.

“I may be dangerous. I may be compromised.”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Clint said softly, raising Phil’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. “Not like you haven’t had to put me down in the night before.”

“I’ve been having fugue states,” Phil admitted. “I come back to myself, and there are drawings, or carvings, I made them but I don’t know how, or why, or what they are.”

“Have you hurt anyone in these states?” Natasha asked, and Phil frowned.

“I don’t think so. I think May was insurance. In case I did go rogue.”

“May is good,” Natasha admitted. “She might have been able to do it.”

“And Ward. Ward’s HYDRA,” Phil said, shaking his head. “That’s…”

“At least we can be relatively sure no one else on your team is,” Natasha said, and Clint looked at her; the flicker of her eyebrow told him, later. Okay, later. “And your baby agent is adorable, but you’re right. She needs to work on her hand to hand.”

“Baby agent?” Clint asked, and ‘Tasha laughed.

“He made a judgment call.”

Clint blinked at that, then laughed aloud before nuzzling into Phil’s neck. “A judgment call, huh?”

Phil sighed. “I am never going to live this down.”

“Probably not,” ‘Tasha agreed. “But I think you made the right call.”

“Tell us about them. Your team,” Clint invited.

“You’re still my team,” Phil said firmly. “I want to integrate us, one unit.”

“Great. No problem,” Clint said easily. “Where are they? Let’s get the getting to know you bit over with. I would especially like to meet this HYDRA guy.”

“Clint,” Natasha said, and he pouted.

“What? You got a taste, I don’t? What about sharing, ‘Tash, I thought we taught you how to share.”

Just as ‘Tasha was looking as if she might do something Clint would regret, Phil’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket. “Saved by the buzzer,” he said, showing them the screen.

“A.C. You okay up there? Need us to come save you?”

“That’s Skye. She’s…impulsive. But big-hearted.” Phil sighed. “Are you ready?”’

“Are you?” ‘Tasha asked, and he nodded.

“Just. A moment with Clint alone, please, Natasha.”

“Of course.” She inclined her head and gracefully rose from the floor, leaving the two of them alone.

Clint and Phil leaned into one another a little harder; ‘Tasha was important to them, hell, she slept with them more often than not, they were a team in almost every sense of the word; but Clint and Phil had been together already when they brought her in. Softly, Clint pressed a kiss to his husband’s head.  
“I missed you,” he whispered. “So much.”

“I missed…someone. I didn’t know. I didn’t even know it was you, but I missed you. Your scent, your body against mine,” Phil murmured, raising his head to meet Clint’s lips with his own.

It was a sweet kiss, chaste, really, just the press of lips to lips; but it was something Clint had never thought he would have again, the feeling of Phil’s mouth to his, and so he savored it, every moment. They didn’t really have time to go any further, not with the others waiting, so when it broke, regretfully, Clint rose and offered his hand. “We should go before they send out a search party,” he said with a half-smile, and Phil nodded, taking his hand and getting up. The two of them put the mattress back, but Clint stopped.

“Here,” he said softly, and pulled the chain from around his neck, where a golden and a silver ring hung. “I -- it was sent to me.” He took off the chain and unthreaded the golden ring from it, placing it back on his husband’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he murmured.

“All over again. Every day,” Phil whispered as he slid the silver ring on Clint’s hand. “I was miserable without you.”

“I was -- “ Clint closed his eyes. “You owe ‘Tasha. I owe ‘Tasha. More than you know.”

“More than I want to know?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe meaning how many times?”

“Four. For certain. Two that were more…me taking stupid risks, because I didn’t think I had anything to go on for.”

“Oh, Locksley,” Phil whispered, and pulled Clint into another hug. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay now. That was…the last time was over a year ago,” Clint tried to reassure him. “I’m okay now, Sherwood. I’m better, because I’m home. You are my home. Always.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Clint replied, and they went to the elevator, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Part 2, folks. Yes, I know we only got a glimpse of Darcy and Victor, but the rest of the cast are important as well. Very much so.
> 
> I have started Part 3, just about where this left off, and yes it will focus more on Darcy and Victor, though there may be some more of this as well -- but I will probably save most of the high dramaz in the Tower for Part 4. And yes. There will be high dramaz.
> 
> Hope you liked it; comments, etc., are greatly appreciated.  
> ~Marbles


End file.
